


The Night Before

by constantlyinthedark



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Henry is not nice in this one, M/M, Pain, Rough Sex, the rape warning is just to be extra careful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constantlyinthedark/pseuds/constantlyinthedark
Summary: I know his type, little repressed queer boys just waiting for someone assertive and masculine to tell them what to do.
Relationships: Francis Abernathy/Henry Winter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 53





	The Night Before

It’s the night before Bunny’s funeral, and I’m lying awake restless. Somehow, my mind turns to Francis, and I can’t shake the thought of him. He seems to be the most disturbed by what we did to Bunny, and that vulnerability draws me to him. 

I know he’s fucking (or, more realistically, getting fucked by) Charles, and I’ve seen bruises on him. And I know his type, little repressed queer boys just waiting for someone assertive and masculine to tell them what to do. I’ve been tense lately, and I need someone to take it out on. 

It’s around two in the morning when I shake him awake and he looks up at me confused, still half asleep. I don’t know what to say to him, but if I’m lucky, he won’t need much convincing. So I lean in to kiss him, and he doesn’t resist, kissing me back hesitantly after a minute. 

Then he pulls back. “Do you want me to blow you?” he asks in a whisper. So giving, just like before. 

(There was the first time, when we’d both been drunk and Francis had kissed me clumsily, and before I knew it my dick was in his mouth. I held him down then, pressing him into my crotch until his face turned red, and it made him hard. Then there was the Bacchanal, when I’d found him lying naked with cum--Charles’s, surely--on his ass and lower back, and I couldn’t resist thrusting into him until I came deep inside him. He’d been groggy then, but conscious, and I was sure he remembered it, even though he’d never mentioned it to me. But I’d never tamed a sane and (relatively) sober Francis, and I couldn’t resist an opportunity to do so.)

It’s a tempting offer, but I have more in mind.

“I want to fuck you,” I say, “quite soon,” and if he hesitates, it’s only for a split second. 

I turn on the light next to the bed, then lean towards him to pull off his heavy black sweater. There’s another dark shirt underneath, and beyond that he’s skinny and pale. He stands up to take his pants and ridiculous silk boxers off, and I undress myself, too. Then, taking him by surprise, I shove him down onto the bed roughly. I pin him down against the bed, stomach up, and start kissing him again. He’s incredible at it, really, and he keeps making it rougher, biting at my lips as he grinds against my cock. Francis spreads his legs in the air and I slip two fingers in my mouth and then inside him. 

“You can fuck me whenever you want,” Francis says impatiently.

“I know that,” I retort, and fuck, he’s getting it hard if he doesn’t watch out. “If you want it gentle, tell me now.” I’m bluffing, mostly, but the idea of making him think he has a choice appeals to me. 

“Of course I don’t,” he mutters.

“I’m gonna fuck you dry,” I tell him, and he just looks at me as if it’s a challenge. I want to fuck that smug look off his face.

I push him down hard and hold down his wrists, where there are already old bruises, and position him, head against a pillow and legs spread. Then I shove my cock into him as deep and hard as I can, still dry, and clamp my hand over his mouth, stopping him from screaming. Fuck, he’s tight. I can see the pain in his eyes, even if he can’t speak, but that just makes me harder. I ram into him as hard as I can, fucking him into the mattress with an idosyncratic pace. He’s quiet for most of it--not that he has much of a choice, with his mouth clamped shut--but he finally hums, perhaps trying to ask me to be gentler. I ignore him. 

I thrust into him a few more times, pulling back until just the head is inside him and then slamming back balls deep into him, and he’s groaning into my hand. It must hurt, I’m sure it would hurt even with proper lubrication and preparation, but he doesn’t struggle. I remove my hand and hit him then, hard, across the front of his head. “That’s all you’ve got?” Francis gasps. His head is right up against the headboard now, and I pull him back and then push him forward again as I drive into him, knocking his head against it. And fuck, he’s crying, silent tears forming in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks.

His hand, now free, drifts down to his cock, gripping it tightly. “No,” I say.

“What?”

“Don’t touch yourself. This isn’t for you.”

His face wet from tears, Francis, as submissive as I’d expected, nods. 

“Does Charles know what a slut you are?” I hiss in his ear. “You’d let anyone fuck you.”

He moans, but there’s a hint of arrogance still on his face. “I fuck everyone I want to,” he says.

“Because you’re a fucking whore,” I say, a little too loudly, and without thinking about it, I slap his face hard. “You’ll do whatever they want, of course they’ll fuck you. What’s Charles going to do when you’re too sore to take it up the ass?” 

“I’ll suck him off, I’m quite good at that,” he retorts.

“I’ll ruin you for him,” I say. “Fuck you so hard you’ll hardly feel him.”

Francis laughs shortly. “He doesn’t care if I like it, genius.”

“Neither do I,” I say as I snap my hips even harder, and he comes hard. If he expected me to stop, or even slow down, he shows no sign of it beyond a small whimper, surely feeling tender and over-stimulated. All I want is control, but even as he surrenders his body to me, Francis refuses to cede it, and a stubborn part of me wants to hurt him so badly that he’ll stop liking what I’m doing to him. 

I wrap my hands around his neck, choking him, and he tightens around me. I tighten my hands in return, thrusting more and more brutally into him. I’m close. He starts flailing under me, the first attempt at a struggle he’s given me all night, and desperately tries to pry my hands off his throat. His face is turning red, and I regretfully let him go, slapping him hard twice more, and pull out of him. “Let me come on your face,” I say, and he nods weakly, still gasping for breath, and that and a few more tugs are all I need before I’m spilling onto him.

I lie on him for a few minutes as we both try to catch our breath. There are bruises blooming all over his sides, from his waist up through his ribs and then coming back around his neck, and cum still smeared on his face. “God,” he breathes. “What the fuck is wrong with all of you? I hate being choked, why do you always have to ruin it?”

“Oh, come on, don’t be dumb.” I’d seen the bruises on his body from Charles; there was no way he didn’t get off on it. He’d practically begged for me to hurt him, and I don’t like him setting limits now. I don’t have anything against gays, I’d never judged Francis for his sexuality, but the word comes out. “Faggot.” 

Francis laughs. “At least I know what I am,” he spits. “I wonder, do you even like women. Can’t get it up for Camilla, is that it?”

I want to tear him apart. “I care about Camilla. I can’t hurt her like I can you.”

“You only care about yourself,” he hisses.

“I hope Charles fucks you until you hate it,” I tell him. “And I hope he chokes you until you pass out.”

“Get the fuck out of my room.”


End file.
